Bella Mafia Read online

  Armando's tongue slicked once over her clit, and then the tip of his tongue flicked at the rigid knot, feathering it with soft lashes. Then his tongue swiped south. He used two fingers to ply the juicy lips of her labia apart. His tongue dipped in as far as it could reach and her immediate response was the slight roll of her hips. Her bum lifted higher from the mattress, and she gave him a pelvic thrust. He liked that. She wasn't made of steel after all. Again and again he eased his tongue in and out to swipe up to her engorged clit until she made the gurgling sounds of submission and her body began to convulse with pleasure.

  Catalina was on the edge. So close. It was delicious to watch. The tip of his tongue began to tickle and tease her further. And then his mouth latched on to her distended clit and pulled. The action was all it took. She clutched her own breasts and squeezed as she came for him so hard she cried out his name. She said his name. HIS NAME.

  It was quite early for her to brand him this way. They hadn’t even begun. Did Dominic even know how to eat pussy? She held on to her breasts and rode the wave of her climactic release. When he dragged his mouth away and wiped her sweet juices off his mouth over her soft tummy, she was left whimpering.

  Armando went up her body. Her legs remained with her knees parted and thighs open. He forced them to open wider, and pinned her down beneath him. Armando’s dick was so hard he had to drive it into something soft to release the tension or he'd explode. So he took aim. At the notch of her entrance the thick of his cock wedged. Once again her hand went up to his pelvis. Before she forced him away he thrust into her hard and then harder. Catalina’s eyes stretched. Her mouth gaped and she went still. He could see her dainty hands clenched into fists. Armando began to lift his hips, push down, then pump, until the fist clenching stopped and her hands went up his chest for mercy, not refusal. She was so tight, so warm, so wet and tender he had to close his eyes not to dip into his own madness, and become some weak blubbering virginal teenager. Instead he slowed his breathing and concentrated on more than her beauty and the sex. It was hard. Every time he opened his eyes and looked at her beautiful face, his body tensed and his cock surged toward release. A sheen of sweat coated her skin. Her hair was plastered to her cheeks and brow. He smoothed the damp strands away. She blinked and looked up into his eyes. Her arousal painted her cheeks a rosy hue. Her long-lashed eyes banked with heat and unquenched passion.

  Armando released her from the trapped and pinned down position, but kept moving in and out of her. Catalina groaned a thank you for free will. She wrapped her silky soft legs around his waist and lifted her ass to press her abdomen up against his, while he thrust in and out of her. Intense pleasure shivered up his spine. And so began the tug-of-war to pull back the climax mounting in him from the sheer triumph of having her.

  Catalina gasped. Her body became a lightening rod of sensations. Strike after strike, thrust after thrust, pleasure impaled her pelvis to deliver an electrifying current from the bottom of her spine to her heart. He stretched her so nicely. Filled her to completion. It was wrong. It was so wrong. But she didn't care.

  “Padre, perdonami! Dio perdonami!” she cried out. She begged for her father’s forgiveness.

  “There's no forgiveness from the father, there's no forgiveness from God, there's just me,” he answered and enjoyed her corruption. She clung to him, damned to her fate. Her nails scored his back when his passion unleashed hard unrelenting demands to her body. And he realized her whimpering and suffering, so he eased up on her. Catalina savored the nice and easy, and licked the sweat from his shoulder blade up to his neck. She relished the feeling of strength and power drilling inside of her. Her vagina rippled and pulsed around his length. And her mind screamed for more. Or maybe her mouth did? Catalina wasn't sure. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and bit down on her bottom lip so hard she drew blood.

  “More,” she pleaded.

  He turned her over and put her in position. Catalina’s face was pressed into her pillow. He kept a hand to the center of her spine to ensure her face remained there. Armando repositioned himself at her opening. She felt the dull nudge of his erection before it stabbed her deeply. He thrust forward and she cried out. Like a man possessed he throttled and jack hammered her pussy. Fucked her from the back harder than the front. He pinched then smacked her ass with his open palm. And then in a flash, he slowed the pace and loved her with long dick strokes, until her pussy walls fluttered and clenched. The friction and the contradiction of his hard fucks and slow thrusts pushed her over the edge.

  Catalina lifted on all fours. The wet sloppy sound of his fucking her competed with his hard breathing and their intermingled grunts. She glanced back at him from overe her shoulder, panting louder and louder. Wanting him to be dirty, cruel, good and loving. She wanted to be treated like a woman and fucked like one. Her head dropped and she squeezed her eyes shut. The climax came down on her hard. Her arms shook with weakening strength and she nearly collapsed.

  Armando kept thrusting until his balls were empty and his cock flaccid. Hot creamy jets spurted into her. He rubbed the sweat in over her back and smacked her ass again.

  “We aren’t done,” he breathed. “No, bambina, we aren’t done. Give me time. I want more,” he panted. “More, more, more, sweet Catalina.”

  He kissed her back and his weight brought them both down on the mattress hard.

  “So good. I love you,” he said. “I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know how it happened. I love you. I’m cursed.”

  She closed her eyes and buried her silent tears into her pillow. He kissed her back. Moved her hair to kiss her shoulder and her neck. “You’re mine. You hear me? Mine.”

  And it was done.

  The last of her love for the most beautiful man in the world had shattered to pieces. She was Armando’s now. And she hated herself for it.

  Chapter Seven

  Awake

  Sorrento, Italy

  It had been over a week since she last checked in with the Carabinieri. Adara itched with anxious worry and it settled in the pit of her stomach. A missed call was expected every now and then when on assignment. But there was protocol to follow. Ways to communicate outside of what is expected. She’d gone off the grid since her last report in. The Generale had to know his big victory came at the price of her escape. But had she escaped? Or had she traded one lie for another?

  It all started with the act of revenge. Just like everything else that was a catalyst of change in her life. The Carabinieri and polizia arrived in Napoli in time to witness the explosive conclusion to the Benicia clan. They seized hundreds of pounds of heroine that didn't burn or wash away in the sea. Her superiors were happy. It was the biggest bust of the Camorristi in decades. However, the Battaglia clan could not be connected to any of it. And Adara knew that was by design. She expected casualties. She just didn't expect one of them to be Carlo.

  Or to care.

  When she delivered the information on the Benicias, the Generale made sure she received a cassette tape as her reward. Adara had no idea what truth, lies, and deception she would uncover. The typed note that accompanied the cassette told the truth behind the death of Don Tomosino. Why would she care? Why did the Generale think she cared? All answers were uncovered on that tape. Adara’s heart was ripped from her chest. She never once believed that Giuseppe had conspired to kill her nonno. But from his own mouth came the confession that he started the war with the Battaglias by ordering the assassination of Don Tomosino. Giovanni’s retaliation was to be expected in their world. But even the Generale knew for all these years she never truly understood why her family was cast out. She understood now.

  The Generale wanted assurance that her loyalty would never be split, even if the truth tore down everything she once believed. She had yet to give him that assurance.

  Now an ancient war was back. And the first test of her loyalty to the past or the future came six days ago. A car sped up to the doors of the cottage. Adara was startled awake. She ha
d to quickly dress. Men, at least five, crashed in the door carrying a drugged, blood covered, and incoherent Carlo. She was paralyzed with fear. He was hurt. Fresh from a medical procedure, he was taken from the hospital against doctor’s orders and brought home—to her. The blow to his head could have killed him. A hazard of the lifestyle he lived. The man who walked tall and instilled fear in half of southern Italy, was at his lowest point. She begged the men to tell her what happened to him. No explanation was offered. They looked confused to hear her speak to them, and then dismissed her as no one of importance. They gave her bandages, and a few prescription pills and then left.

  When Carlo was coherent he rambled about being a failure. He rambled about a person named Lorenzo and a woman named Marietta. She knew full well who they were. But the strange story of killing and salvation tumbling from his lips sounded like the ravings of a madman. And when Carlo suffered the worst from head pains that left him sweating and panting, he spoke only one name: Shae. Afterwards all he ever said for the next few days following was: ‘I have to find them’.

  Carlo? Marietta? Shae? Find whom, she wondered.

  Adara went to the kitchen. She poured another glass of water. On the counter was a pill bottle. She stared at it for a moment before she picked it up. She knew a little about medication. Her mother was heavily doped for both mental and physical illnesses when she was a child. The pills in her hand were highly addictive. But they were also Carlo’s salvation. When the pain and severe headaches had him yelling to the roof, she had no choice but to offer him one. She tried reducing his intake to half a pill. Carlo soon uncovered her duplicity. He was enraged, but too weak to fight her, so he resorted to refusing to take the pills altogether. She weakened and gave him the correct dosage. She had to hide the pill bottle from him to keep him from downing four or five at a time.

  That level of control she wielded over him was slipping. Carlo was getting stronger. And meaner.

  Adara glanced to the clock. It was time to check on him. She put the pill bottle down on the counter, sighed and steeled herself for the man she'd find in bed today. To her relief he still slept. He lay flat on his chest with his arms spread out. His face was turned on the pillow. And again there was a bloodstain there. It was the second pillowcase change in forty-eight hours. She did what she could to help him. Still he suffered from the most debilitating migraines and vomited often. When he was lucid, she tried to convince him to go back to the hospital, but he refused. If she called the paramedics, they would alert the polizia. Her bosses would get wind of his condition and drag him in. They’d use tactics against him in his state to force him to talk. No one would protect Carlo now, but her.

  Adara went back into the kitchen and got another glass of water and opened the pill bottle. Instead of trying to give him half of a pill, she dumped two into her hand. She decided to bring the bottle as well when she returned to the room. She set the water and pill bottle down. She went to the bathroom and wet a rag. When she returned he had rolled over to his back. He stared directly at her.

  The screaming pain in his skull felt as hot and as intense as a siren. Every morning it hurt to think. It was as if someone had turned up the volume on his nightmares. He flipped over to his back and saw a shadow. Was it another demon surfacing from his mind to drag him back down into hell? The shadow came closer, and with his blurred vision he was able to make out the feminine curves of a woman. He'd know that body anywhere.

  It was Shae.

  “I need you,” he said. A damp cloth was placed upon his forehead. “I know you said you couldn’t... that we couldn’t be, but I need you. I only wanted you. I never explained it, I just... if you had given me a chance to explain you would have understood. Shae.”

  “I’m here,” the woman answered.

  It wasn't Shae's voice. He blinked twice and stretched his eyes to clear his vision.

  “Don't get up, Carlo. Relax,” she said and pushed down on his chest when he tried to rise. His memory went into overload in his skull. He was home. Sorrento. Shae was gone. America. He lost his woman, the only woman for him. She was his soul mate, his rib. And she was gone. He lost his best friend. He was his brother. Closer to him than any brother he ever found lost in the streets. And now he was losing his mind. Carlo forced himself to stay alert and soak in reality. It was hard. But he deserved the truth, not the fantasy. The fantasy was for pussies. He was no pussy.

  Lorenzo and Marietta escaped.

  The boss was hit.

  Blood to the back.

  Blood coming out of his mouth.

  The boss’s blood was on him.

  The boss would die if he didn’t get him help.

  Did he get him help?

  Fuck them all to hell.

  Did the boss die?

  Where was Lorenzo? He had to find the bastard traditore and stop him.

  “Where are they?” he asked the room.

  “Shae? I don't know who she is.”

  The comment hit as hard as a fist. Carlo blinked. Had he said Shae? Carlo squeezed his eyes shut. He fought back a sour taste in his throat and managed to sit up.

  “You have to go slow.” She warned. Did she know he lived in nightmares now? He turned his head too quickly to the sound of her voice. He nearly blacked out from the over exertion. She was comforting him with touches to his face. Her other hand rested on his shoulder blade. “How bad is it today, caro?”

  “Cattivo—Bad,” he mumbled. He summoned his strength and sat up. With strength he didn’t think he had, he was able to turn and sit on the side of the bed. And that was all he could do.

  “I know. I was hoping today would be better. I’m so sorry. I brought you something...”

  “I don't need you,” he grunted, and despite his inability to do so he tried to stand. But her touch returned to his chest and gently pushed until he obeyed her command, and he went back down to his sitting position.

  “Yes. Yes, you do.” She turned his face to look to the back side of his head. Adara then pealed the bandage to inspect the stitched wound. Carlo’s line of vision was now trained on the dresser mirror. He could see the man he was now. Pale, eyes ringed with dark circles, lips purple. The side of his head shaved where they applied Frankenstein stitches to his skull. Marietta almost killed him. It still hurt to remember the fact that she had tried. And it hurt even more to finally accept who Lorenzo was. A traitor. Giovanni was right. He'd been a fucking idiot.

  “You’re healing. I need to clean this again, today.” She stroked his jaw as she spoke. “Try not to be mean to me, Carlo. I only want to help.”

  “Mean?” he frowned. Why would she say he was mean?

  “You don't remember the last few days? Do you?”

  “No,” he rasped.

  “You've been a very difficult patient. But I understand. You were in a lot of pain. I didn’t take any of it personal.” Adara stood between his parted knees. The position made her breasts eye level. Several times she leaned in to see, to get closer to apply a salve to his wound, and his face sank between the soft cushion of her 34 Ds. To his surprise that comforted him more than her medical technique. He closed his eyes at the warmth of her body, and the tiny beat of her heart soothed the raging pain in his skull. And then she would withdraw, and the moment would be over. Even in his weakened state he couldn’t help but notice the way the tips of her nipples strained against her shirt.

  Why did it always boil down to sex for him? It would fix nothing. It never had. He was damned no matter what woman held him close. And so was Adara. Shae had missed a bullet on that accord. Adara said he was mean? But if he was at his worst and snarling at her, why had she stayed? Confused he looked up in search of an answer.

  “Hi.” Her smile spoke to him instead of words.

  He looked away. That kind of cheeriness wasn’t what he needed now. He felt like he was dying. And death would be the only thing to keep him from getting out of his bed and taking his revenge. Adara grabbed his wrist and refused to step aside. She took hi
s hand and kissed it.

  “It's okay, Carlo. You can trust me.”

  This time his gaze went to her navel. The cutest little button navel poked out of her flat and trim stomach. She had heart shaped hips that were symmetrical to her round ass. And her legs were thick in the thighs, like he liked his women. Shae had thick thighs, and a round ass too. Even their breasts were the same in measurement.

  “Go away,” he groaned and pulled his hand from hers.

  “No,” she said and stepped closer. Despite his mind warning against it he reached up and touched her thigh, and ran his hand down her leg. It must have confused her. Because he knew his touch communicated the opposite. He wanted to be comforted by her. He kept his gaze lowered to avoid her bright chestnut brown eyes. Damn it to hell, even her feet were a temptation.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “A house is not a home,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  “A song I once heard. Do you know it?”

  “No. I don’t,” she replied.

  “What time is it?” he asked and pushed her away from him, again.

  “Carlo?”

  “What time is it?”

  “You need to eat. It's lunch time.”

  “How long?” his voice croaked and he rubbed his eyes.